We talk endlessly about doing things differently - but will not fund projects which are
If we lose work like this for the sake of £50,000, then the problem isn’t that we do not understand trauma. It’s that we are willing only to speak about it
Looking at how world events affect our daily lives - fuel costs, war, inflation – means sometimes the small things get missed. As budgets constrict, we prioritise services we think are more important, at least to those of us doing the choosing.
Yet at a granular, human level, there are tiny organisations, driven by passionate people, existing on a shoestring and doing quiet, vital work with some of the most vulnerable. People who aren’t often asked how important a service is to them – they’re used to decisions being made without them.
In Edinburgh and Fife, one woman has dedicated her career to creating spaces where women can breathe again, often for the first time in years. Lorraine Close has a background in acute medicine, neurosurgery and prisons, experiences that shaped her understanding of how trauma embeds itself in the body and how healing requires far more than clinical care.
In every city there are women whose lives sit at the intersection of trauma, poverty, addiction, poor health and social isolation. They move unseen through services, struggling under the weight of unimaginable experiences. They are scared to close their eyes because that’s when they’ve been defenceless. They’re riven with anxiety after leaving relationships where their lives were consumed by when and where the next punch would arrive. They hold their breath because it feels like the only thing they can control. They make themselves invisible because that’s where they’re safe.
Gird yourself, I’m about to talk about yoga. But not Lululemon-and-Matcha yoga. A very different kind, practised gently, with a proper understanding of trauma. Yoga that helps restore a sense of agency, connection and dignity for women whose lives have been fractured by adversity.
There’s no dress code. It’s not in a shiny studio. It happens in community centres, recovery hubs and healthcare settings. Some women arrive in recovery from substance use. Others live with chronic pain, anxiety or complex PTSD.
Lorraine believes community-based, relationship-centred practice can interrupt cycles of trauma. Her teaching is not about perfect poses, it’s about noticing breath, reclaiming a sense of safety and rediscovering connection within a supportive group. The shifts women report may sound small, but not to them: sleeping better, feeling calmer, managing cravings, reconnecting with long-suppressed emotions.
In justice and government, with so many competing priorities, it can be difficult to make decisions aligned with what we care about most. We default to the immediate demand and the visible crisis. But if we’re serious about trauma-informed practice, it can’t be in strategy documents and conferences only. We must recognise and support what makes it real in people’s lives.
Run on around £50,000 a year, this work is extraordinary value for money. Yet Lorraine’s project closes in June, the funding gone. Much of the work is done at a peppercorn rate, because they believe in it. But for Lorraine, work teaching the next generation of nurses while constantly filling out grant applications has simply become too much.
We talk endlessly about doing things differently. This is what that looks like. If we lose work like this for the sake of £50,000, then the problem isn’t that we do not understand trauma. It’s that we are willing only to speak about it, while letting the practical work disappear.
Karyn McCluskey is chief executive of Community Justice Scotland
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